"It does to me, I assure you, at least at the moment. Yet I do not find, in looking back, that this past month has flown any less fast, for all my little arts to detain it. Here comes the stage, crowded as usual, inside and out. I wonder whether we make a part of the picture to them, and whether they will remember us with it? The mountains before them—look back, Miss Clifford, and see; that crimson maple on your side of the road; and this green hill with its firs and rocks on mine."
I laughed. "I don't believe they will ever think of us again."
"Then they are not appreciative. Don't think I mean to take any of their supposed notice to myself, except so far as I am with you. To me, all the rest, all that we can see and admire, is the frame, the setting as it were, to your face. It has been so ever since I came here."
I found this somewhat embarrassing, of course, though Mr. Grey spoke in a simple, matter-of-fact way, that had the effect of veiling the compliment. He did not seem to expect an answer, and continued, "That reminds me of 'In Memoriam.' Do you recall the lines about the 'diffusive power'?"
"No; I don't know what you mean. Repeat them, won't you?"
"I have no doubt you will find them familiar, yet I will repeat them, because I like them so much." And he recited these lines, which I write down, because they bring before me the whole scene, and I seem to hear again the low voice and the appreciating accent with which he spoke:
"Thy voice is on the rolling air;
I hear thee where the waters run:
Thou standest in the rising sun,
And in the setting thou art fair.
"What art thou, then? I cannot guess;
But, though I seem in star and flower
To feel thee some diffusive power,
I do not therefore love thee less.
"My love involves the love before;
My love is vaster passion now;
Though mixed with God and nature thou,
I seem to love thee more and more.
"Far off thou art, but ever nigh;
I have thee still, and I rejoice,
I prosper, circled with thy voice;
I shall not lose thee, though I die."